by Vella Day
Derek moved a strand of hair covering her eye. He didn’t want to ask, but he had to. “What about us has you confused?”
Dare he hope? Had he misunderstood her rejection?
She sat up and faced him. “I’m tired, I’m disappointed, and I think I want to go home.”
He couldn’t figure out which part of her sentence related to their relationship, but there was no doubt, Kelly had had it.
“I’ll call Mariani and see if he can trace the call to your room. Then I’ll make the reservations. You pack. Once we’re back in Tampa, we can sort everything out.”
“Fine.” She closed her eyes and lowered her chin to her chest.
Without giving any thought to his actions, he wrapped his arms around her again, but she squirmed out of his arms. “Derek, please.”
Hurt, he moved away. Kelly needed space to digest what had happened—most notably his visions. She’d been through a lot.
He had one purpose in the next twenty-four hours. Get Kelly safely home. As long as he wasn’t wrenched from the present by his guides, he’d make sure nothing happened to her.
24
Oh, hello.” Mrs. Anton’s eyes widened as she pulled open her door. “I didn’t expect to see you again. Come in.”
“With Rayne’s death and all, there was no reason to come back.” Until now, you old biddy. “I needed to pick up some things I had at the house, but I wanted to stop by and say goodbye.”
“Well, that’s so nice of you. Can I get you anything to drink?”
“I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
The sofa was littered with dolls—dirty, nasty dolls. Cobwebs collected on the shelves above the sofa, and that velvet painting of the two Cockatiels kissing was disgusting. What was wrong with this woman?
The cramped living room was suffocating with its too many sofas and chairs—and dust—lots and lots of dust.
“I was just brewing some tea. Is that okay?” Mrs. Anton chirped from the kitchen.
“Perfect.” Too bad the bitch wouldn’t live long enough to drink it.
Once the old lady began fixing the tea, out came the rope. The teapot whistled and the china cup clinked against the saucer.
The time to kill had arrived.
The bitch would never know why she had to die today, but it didn’t matter. Couldn’t have her talking to the police. Given time, she might remember who was outside Rayne’s house the night she died.
Better make this quick.
Mrs. Anton’s loose neck begged to be taken. With a quick flick of the wrist, the rope wrapped around her throat, and the pathetic woman’s hands grappled at the noose. One jerk, and fifteen seconds later, she was on the ground. Dead.
Snap. Crackle. Pop. Easy. Too easy in fact.
Killing boosted the immune system, sending endorphins through the system. The power of taking a life intoxicated one’s whole body. There was nothing like it.
Enough enjoyment for one day. Now to make sure all trace evidence disappeared.
Cups were left in the sink piled high with dishes, which meant the cops wouldn’t be able to tell which cups had recently been left and which had been there a week. There was no time to deal with the mess though. The living room was a different matter. God, her place was a disaster, but a quick swipe of the dust cloth and a little straightening of those stupid dolls, and Mrs. Anton wouldn’t have to be embarrassed when her friends and family came to say goodbye.
A car door slammed outside. Shit.
Voices.
Cops.
The only way out was through the back door. Not to worry, they’d never suspect who’d killed the old lady.
Next up. Snoopy Dr. Kelly.
The smell of day old coffee swirling around him, Derek leaned back in his desk chair, unable to concentrate. He’d been back in Tampa a week already, and he hadn’t heard from Kelly or located Justin.
He’d begged her to let him keep watch over her, but she’d been adamant he stay away. She didn’t want or need a protection detail. Damn, stubborn woman.
Nothing was going right. Hell, even the jumper case had stalled. Derek either needed luck to fall from the sky or his spirit guides to drop the moratorium on pertinent clues.
His cell phone rang, and his pulsed revved. Was it Kelly? Not likely. His spirit guides? Get a grip, buddy. They’re not going to contact me by office phone. He grabbed the receiver. “Benally.”
“It’s me, Seinkievitz.”
Derek relaxed back in his chair. “Why are you whispering?”
“I don’t want the Captain or anyone else to hear me.”
Derek whipped around and saw Seinkievitz hunkered down over the desk not more than fifteen feet away. “Just come over here and talk to me.”
“You know the Captain will have my head if he sees me with you. He’ll assume you’re pumping me for information,” Seinkievitz said.
“Fine. What did you learn?”
“You won’t believe it. A neighbor of Rayne’s called in a while ago and said she spotted Justin Bladen going into your sister’s house.” He picked up the paper. “A Mrs. Anton.”
Every bone in his body turned rigid. “When exactly did she call?” That would mean Justin might still be at Rayne’s.
“I don’t know. I just walked in and found the note on my desk. It’s not time stamped, but I’m heading over there too. Thought you’d like to know.”
Derek ignored the sarcasm, pushed aside his stack of never-ending papers, and leaned forward on his desk. “Thanks, I owe you one.”
Derek hung up and raced out of the station before Seinkievitz even left his desk.
Rayne’s house was a good twenty minutes away. Justin would be long gone but just knowing he was in town boosted Derek’s energy. He’d find the bastard no matter what it took.
Derek sped down Rayne’s street. As he rounded the corner, he pulled over and had to park two houses from hers. An ambulance, three police cars, and two civilian cars were parked in front of Mrs. Anton’s house.
“Shit.”
He jumped out and raced to the neighbor’s place. Heat blasted him, but he ignored the discomfort. Just as Derek made it to the front door, the paramedics came out with a sheet-covered body on a gurney.
“Is it Mrs. Anton?” he asked, knowing full well the answer.
“Yes.”
Anger socked him in the gut. Why now? Had Justin become more blatant in his killing? He needed answers before he went nuts.
As Derek entered Mrs. Anton’s house, Steppings and his crew were busy at work gathering forensic clues. Steppings looked up from his crouched position near the doorway. “Derek.”
“What happened?” Derek asked.
The CSU lead rose to his feet slowly. Arthritis maybe? “Someone strangled Mrs. Anton with what I’m guessing is a 10 mm thick rope.”
“Like a climbing rope?”
“That’s as good a guess as any.”
Was Justin a climber? He’d never heard Rayne talk about his love of the outdoors.
“Hey,” Seinkievitz said a little out of breath as he stepped next to Derek. “Yikes. This place looks like a Toys-R-Us sale.”
“That’s an understatement.” Derek moved further into the living room. Whoa. What had happened? The dolls were neatly lined up on the shelves and free from cobwebs. The large couch doll sat up straight in the middle of the sofa—alone. Gone were the magazines and other paraphernalia he’d moved when he’d visited Mrs. Anton.
“Someone cleaned up.”
Steppings eyed him from beneath his bushy brows. “Maybe Mrs. Anton was feeling energetic or spring cleaning came really late this year.”
“I was here maybe a week or two ago, and the house looked like it’d been collecting dust for years. The dolls were tossed on the shelves, on the chairs, and on the sofas. Not in neat little rows like they are now.”
Steppings’ gaze swept the room. “Someone cleaned up then.”
“Maybe she hired a maid,” Seinkievitz put in.
“I doubt it,” Derek said. “Not on her fixed income.”
Derek walked back to the kitchen where another one of Steppings’ team was taking measurements. “I don’t see any evidence of a struggle,” Derek said over his shoulder, hoping to learn their take on the murder.
“You’re right.” Steppings joined him. “And no forced entry either. Buscemi is canvassing the neighbors to see if anyone noticed someone entering the premises.”
Steppings seemed to have everything under control. “I’m going to check my sister’s house. She reported seeing Justin next door. I want to see if he touched anything.”
“Good idea. If you find anything, let us know.”
Derek nodded at Seinkievitz and stepped outside. Frustration gripped him. When would this killing stop? Justin was on the loose again, and Derek had no more evidence than the night Rayne died. Dammit. Would Kelly be next? Or his father? Or Billy for that matter? After all, Billy had Seminole blood in him too.
Or was there some master plan he was missing?
A neighbor on the other side of Rayne’s was mowing the lawn, causing Derek to sneeze. He loved the smell of fresh cut grass, but the allergens wreaked havoc with his sinuses.
As he stepped up to his sister’s door, negative energy poured from her house. Had losing Rayne had cast a pall over the property—or had Justin’s presence ionized the air?
Using the key she’d given him, Derek let himself in. Although he’d set the air to eighty-four, the place smelled of mildew. He had to find the time to clean out her place before the task became too overwhelming. Touching her possessions would tear out his heart.
Nothing looked disturbed, but then again, Justin was a careful man.
Kelly needed to run, needed the boost from the endorphins. She hadn’t spoken with Derek since their return. She might have overreacted when she told him she needed her space, but the man complicated her life. However, she needed to talk to him. Questions about Justin, questions about Lilly, and questions about Derek cobwebbed her mind to a point where she’d become ineffective at work. That’s why she needed the run.
Outside, the night sky was covered in clouds, threatening rain. Even if she were caught in a downpour, she wouldn’t melt. She’d take her mace and phone just in case something happened.
Once dressed, she jetted outside, careful to lock the door behind her. Despite it being October, the humidity slapped her in the face. A clap of thunder sounded off in the distance, but Kelly didn’t care if she came home drenched in sweat or just plain drenched. The exertion would do her good. Her tree-covered street would provide some shelter from the elements.
She’d run no more than a mile when her phone buzzed, startling her. Keeping her gaze on the road, she flicked a glance at the caller I.D. “Private number.” Curious, she answered. “Hello?”
“Please don’t hang up on me. I need to talk to you. Thank God I reached you.”
The man’s panicked voice didn’t sound familiar. “Who is this?” She rounded the bend in the road and stepped further into the roadway, away from the shoulder that was covered in slippery gravel.
“It’s Justin.”
Kelly halted, and her breath gushed out. Her pulse jumped to warp speed. “Justin?”
If only she knew how to notify Derek that he was on the line. It wasn’t as if she could exactly flag down a car and tell them to call 9-1-1 while she was on the line with a murderer.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
What an odd question, until she realized her rapid breath must sound like a freight train. “I’m jogging.”
“Sounds like it. Kelly, I need to talk to you. I...I don’t know where else to turn.”
His desperate plea caused sympathy to well up, until she realized he was acting, trying to elicit sympathy. She refused to fall for his line. For a second, she debated telling him guilt would follow him for the rest of his life if he didn’t turn himself in. Instead she tried to sound casual. “You could try talking to the police. I bet they’d listen.”
What sounded like a laugh came over the line. “They won’t believe me. They think I killed the woman I loved. I know you think I had something to do with your sister’s murder as well, but I swear to God I didn’t kill either of them.”
His sincere tone was coupled with what she decided was fear. “Why should I believe you?” A car barreled down the road, and Kelly stepped off to the side, her pulse spiking.
“When we were together, did I act like a murderer?”
A crack of thunder sounded closer.
When they were together? They’d spent one evening and had one run in the park. “Not really.” Drops of rain splattered on her nose, so she turned around and began to walk back to her house.
“Kelly, I don’t know what to say that would convince you I’m innocent. How does anyone prove innocence?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.” If she could keep him talking, maybe there would be some way to trace his call.
“Okay. For starters, I really was at my boss’s house the night of Rayne’s murder, passed out in the downstairs spare bedroom. I was so shit faced, I could barely see, let alone drive. I couldn’t have—”
Kelly slapped the phone. “You’re breaking up.”
“Sorry.” His voice came in clearer. “Is this better?”
“Yes,” she said, relieved not to lose the connection.
“I took it off speaker phone. Anyway, my boss told me some cops came by the office and actually calculated how long it would take to drive to Rayne’s house, kill her and return, assuming I faked being drunk.”
Derek had thought the same thing. “What did they find?” She was pleased her tone sounded even and not jittery like her stomach.
“That’s not the point.”
“I beg to differ. If the time frame works, then your alibi doesn’t hold up.”
He groaned. “You see why I don’t want to go to the police? Have you talked to Derek?”
That came out of the blue. “Not in the last couple of days.” It wasn’t a lie.
“It doesn’t matter. Tell me. Did he ever say if the police had any physical evidence to tie me to the murders?”
“Like fingerprints or something?”
“Yes.”
She tried to think. Justin had two prior murder convictions on the books, her sister was tailing him for some client, which didn’t look good, and he and according to Derek, Rayne had had a bad argument with Justin the night she died. But hard evidence? “I don’t think so.”
“See there?”
“That doesn’t mean you didn’t kill Rayne or my sister.”
“How about if I tell you who did kill them?”
Kelly’s throat went dry. “You know who murdered them?”
“Yes.”
25
Who?” The word came out as a croak. A dog started barking in the neighborhood, and Kelly hoped it was just a passerby.
Kelly looked behind her and gripped the phone hard. When heat lightning lit up the sky, she held her breath waiting for Justin to reveal the name of the killer.
“My mother.” He sounded like an ill-tempered child.
His mom? “That’s rich. You’re going to tell me your mother killed two women? She must be in her, what, sixties?”
“Yes, but what’s age got to do with it?”
Killers weren’t typical people. “Right.”
Headlights came around the bend behind her and slowed. She whipped around, grabbed the mace from her pocket with her free hand and jumped off the pavement. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she forced herself to stay calm.
“I know I’m repeating myself,” she said, “but tell me again why I should believe you?” The car passed, and her shoulders relaxed a bit.
“Because I’m innocent!”
Suddenly nervous being alone on the road, she picked up her pace, imagining Justin nearby with a gun trained on her head. She shuddered. “Even if you didn’t commit the crimes, that doesn’t mean your
mother killed my sister and Rayne. Besides, doesn’t she live in Utah?”
“Rayne tell you that? Never mind. I did grow up in Utah. I had no reason to believe my mom wasn’t there until she showed up at my house today.”
That might explain Lilly Bladen’ empty trailer. Kelly’s legs weakened, but she pushed to reach the safety of her house. “If your mother confessed, why not turn her in?”
“I didn’t actually see her. She left a note with no signature, but I know she wrote it. No one could duplicate her chicken scratch handwriting.”
“Why are you calling me?” The whole conversation sent creepy prickles across her skin.
“I needed to tell someone.” The sound of shuffling papers rustled through the line. “Let me read this to you and I quote: If you don’t turn yourself into the police and confess to the murders, I’ll come after that new girlfriend of yours, Kelly Rutland.’“
Kelly’s blood pressure shot up and she began to sprint, acting as if Justin’s mom were right behind her with a gun trained on her back. Her road was less than a tenth of a mile away. She could make it.
“She wants to come after me? I don’t even know her. And I sure as hell am not your girlfriend.” Nor did she ever want to be. Shades of Utah returned, and a raw, biting jab punched her in the pit of her stomach.
“Somehow she knows I’ve talked to you about Rayne, but don’t ask me how. I’m totally confused about why she would even come to Florida. We haven’t talked in years. We don’t exactly get along.” He let out a groan. “And that’s putting it mildly. She hates me. Begrudges me for running away when my dad died and for not staying and working in town in order to share the living expenses.”
His story matched Courtney Wolfendon’s, but was he telling the truth about the note? Kelly turned down her road, keeping up her pace, staying in the middle of the lane. Think, Kelly, think.
“Can you make a copy of the note and email it to me? Or better yet, fax a copy to the cops?” Her level headedness made her legs lighter.